Breaking the Rule
by KayosHybrid
Summary: Because everyone has a limit. Possible character death. Intended oneshot. Hint of Batman/Joker. Please Read and Review.


**Breaking the Rule  
**

They thrashed and writhed madly over the ground, against the walls, in and out of rooms, through and over furniture. A mad bundle of violent motion; teeth, fists, claws and feet -- wrathful and wild. Both of these opposing force-driven beings at each others throats with utter eagerness.

The Joker loved it – the ecstasy of the cocktail of pain and pleasure, the fact he was driving Batman to his very limits. Batman was going to break his one rule, tonight! That was always his agenda, his impulsive aspiration, should he have the opportunity to drive Batman over the edge.

All the confusion of their intimacy – misplaced desperation to break one another. To mould into the same force. In an attempt to control one another in the most appealing way.

Batman couldn't take it anymore. The pain that ripped through him was just pain, utter pure pain from the loss of his singular love of his life, his undeserving Rachel, the hope of Gotham dirtied and tainted, the steadfast Harvey Dent, and now the city of Gotham, all the innocents, were going to be continually tormented.

This game they were playing, it had to end. They had experienced everything together – death, life, pain and pleasure, intimacy and detachment. There was nothing left to fight each other with. Nothing to dabble in hopes of fixing the situation. Now nothing was left, it was going to fall down to the Joker destroying Gotham while Batman desperately tried to pick up the pieces and help it rebuild. Forever.

He could not let that happen. All the lives lost, the pain and the suffering – it had to end. He was losing everything. The Joker had nothing to lose, but one thing. But even if he lost it, he would win.

No.

Joker was delighted with Batman's enthusiasm. His body was on fire and aching into lead, nerves alive and screaming with agony and ecstasy. Pummelled as they both were, bleeding heavily and black and blue all over – but going no where. Joker loved the idea of his Batman finally breaking. But then the game would be over, wouldn't it? Going on forever sounding perfect….

The Batman could not take it anymore. He had suffered so greatly, the welfare of millions on his shoulders. He was overwhelmed and utterly helpless. Bound and captive by his one rule, the one rule that would save millions and leave the Joker victorious. But he couldn't stand that sneer, that giggle and that smug look no longer. It tore him up, dragged him down into the pits of rage and despair.

His fingers tightened harder in the fists he had clenched, and he started hitting harder. Harder. Harder than he could ever imagine hitting. Every goddamn ounce of energy, of life, he had in him, was thrown into his punches, his kicks, his throws. The Joker gurgled and laughing out loud, being thrown and pummelled around and _loving_ it.

Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT , STOP IT, STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!** STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! **_**STOP IT!**_

"_**STOP LAUGHING!" **_Batman screamed with every bit of air in his lungs, making his throat burn, as his hands clenched madly around the Joker's throat. He gargled, trying to laugh harder at Batman's cracking desperation, but he began to struggle to draw air from the tightness. His bloodied chest wracked with the silent, struggled laughter. So easily infuriated, why, he might drive him insane! They could both be cuckoo; running amok in Gotham until they shared a cell in Arkh- The Joker's brain began to stumble. Ark-…Black eyes dropped sharply onto the face of his nemesis.

Batman's face was contorted, wild, alive, utterly possessed. It was no longer a man, no longer even Batman. The Joker began to laugh (or at least tried) hysterically. He's snapped! He's gone insane!...

Panic began to build up in his body, wriggling in the core of his aching bones. Seizing him like stiff electricity. His eyes tried to focus. Batman's face was so still, so dead focused on his hands still steadfastly clenched on the Joker's neck, slowly straining and crushing his windpipe…

On impulse the Joker began to writhe and thrash ever harder to escape, trying to let his amusement show the Batman what he had become. Batman went bananas! But Batman was not registering his struggling for breath, his glee at his newfound insanity, or his straining of his limits….

There was no strain. Batman's face was showing no more turmoil. The lack of torment on his face took Joker by a sudden surprise. Batman without scowling torment was not Batman. Some inkling, like wriggling, alive water, scurried and curled around in his gut. This was not Batman. Batman was going to break his rule, he'd better be careful, or he'd break his one rule…

The Joker thrashed and clawed and flailed, gaping like a fish drowning on no air, jaw working, tongue curling, as if to coax come oxygen inside. Thumbs were pressed to his throat, fingers curled and crushing on the flesh around it to cause further pressure.

He finally managed to writhe a leg around enough to line up a sharp kick to the groin, and the Batman grunted sharply, distracted, fingers loosening, falling back a little. The Joker wheezed out a cackle of the last of his oxygen, parting his lips to draw air in to howl with laughter and taunt the Bat that nearly broke his rule.

Black hands shot out and clamped around his neck before he could inhale. His eyes widened in their smudged black pits in shock and panic, fingers scrabbling and body twisting to escape Batman's hold. But his grip was absolute, he wasn't letting up. His dark hazel eyes were twirling and in mad motion, but yet….so...dead. He simply was not there. But he was the Batman. He had his hands around the Joker's throat.

He was choking him.

He could not take it anymore. The shame and the despair, failing Gotham every time to rid them of this lunatic. He had tried Blackgate, Arkham, even went out of his way to try and hold Joker captive. Nothing had worked. Pain was his pleasure, and actual pleasure was still just that.

He watched the Joker's face, all the forces of his torment filling up his arms, from fingers to his shoulders, with this driven force to STOP IT. It was like he was detached from his body, helpless yet….willing to let this come to pass.

Watching dark eyes blink wide open and dart around in their sockets, amusement all but gone. Relief from his tormenting laughter at last. But when he let go, it'd come back with a vengeful enthusiasm. He didn't loosen his grip.

The Joker's broken body jerked and wrenched around in his grip, face turning upwards to try and persuade air to fall into his starving lungs. His pulse frantic against Batman's fingers and palms, throbbing through both their beings like drums. His struggles were forced and sharp, growing steadily less and less in strength, even in his desperation. His legs kicked out at random and without force, arms twisting without strength.

His lungs were shivering hollowly from the lack of air. His brain was growing sluggish, refusing to work without oxygen, and in turn, his body was getting lethargic. Each desperate jerk to free himself or alert the Batman was becoming harder and harder. His eyelids began to flutter, focus beginning to swim…

….yes, he would go unconscious from it. The similar look of death would shake the Batman out of his frenzied deathgrip and instantly regret it, and make an effort to redeem himself. Then their game could continue. His vision began to blot and slash with black as unconsciousness swirled nearer…

Thumbs pressed _harder. _His already crushed windpipe bloomed with agony, lighting sparks behind his eyes, wide, staring at the Bat. He wasn't going to let him pass out.

He was going to kill him.

Life began to seep out of his wiry frame. His tight, straining limbs began to loosen, muscles relaxing unwillingly. His eyes darted around manically in their sockets, in panic, in fear, looking for something to get him out, to make the Batman stop. He wasn't stopping. His expression was more contorted, more focussed, more intent. They both knew he was close to dying. But Batman wasn't doing a damn thing to prevent it.

This wasn't funny.

Batman watched as the Joker's eyes dimmed, as the life left his body completely. His arms were still locked, his expression still stuck. Finally the body in his grip went completely slack, all presence leaving the black eyes of his nemesis.

He looked down on his enemy, and he did not feel whole. Gotham was safe from its once unstoppable terrorist. But now that he had stopped, their protector had been moved. His enemy, his polar opposite pair, his twisted motivator and tormenter. He looked down on the dead body of the Joker and he saw Rachel, heard her voice, soothing and calm. Then he heard her last words, her shaking tones, and her coffin. He saw Harvey Dent, the saviour of Gotham, the white knight, standing straight. Poised. With purpose and dedication. His body rolling back and forth in agony on the ground as he screamed, his face being burnt away. His gaping muscles, charred black and red. Lying sprawled out on his back at the place Rachel had died. He saw the faces of the innocents caught up in his schemes, he saw the victims of his explosions and his gunfire. The Batman saw the dead with him.

Batman looked at the dead body of the Joker, and howled to the sky in grief.

--

He lurched forward from his lying position, weak springs creaking in protest beneath him. Sweat clung to his lean frame, sticking his locks to his neck. His entire body was racked with a trembling, his lips parted as air rushed in and out raggedly. His limbs were seized up, still caught up in that…monstrosity.

He licked his dry lips nervously, spreading his hands out in his blanketed lap, fingers shuddering to a calm stillness. He could still feel warmth, still feel life.

How ridiculous, how funny! The oh so dramatic nightmare that seemed so real! How absurd and hilarious for it to grace him of all people! His lips curled upwards a little in an attempt to interest himself in a cackle or a scoff – only a strangled sound came out. So he kept quiet.

His heartbeat was throbbing in his head, very aware of the unsteady expand and dip of his chest as he breathed. He rubbed the pads of his fingers to his thumbs. Very much alive.

But he was unsettled. Everything he had felt, everything he had seen….

The Batman had killed him. The Batman _could_ kill him.

He let out a shuddering breath, a hand lifting to touch shakily at his neck where he was sure gloved, armoured fingers were crushed to just moments before.

He peered into the gloom of the room he resided in. Looked into the darkness and saw bat shapes, eared cowls and clawed capes. The Joker swallowed hard, and remained very, very still.

…After all. Rules were made to be broken.


End file.
